


To the Rescue

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Demon Summoning, Humor, Implied Ligur/Michael, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character Death(s), Skipping out of work, Summoning Circles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: In general humanity is not lucky and is under almost no circumstances careful. So mostly, humans unwise enough to summon a demon get eaten. Ligur looks forward to picking this one out of his teeth.
Relationships: Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Oh Yuck! There's Demons In My Zine!





	To the Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Oh Yuck! fanzine.

It's true that humans can summon demons to the Earthly plane (or move them around the Earthly plane, if the demon is already nearby - as happens to Crowley at least once a century). It's just significantly less true that humans can bind summoned demons. If a human is very, very lucky, and has carefully chosen a demon of negligible power, it is possible to write and complete a demonic contract without getting eaten.

But in general humanity is not lucky and is under almost no circumstances careful. So mostly they get eaten.

Ligur looks forward to picking this one out of his teeth.

The exact justification for eating humans who've summoned them, an argument Ligur had hammered out personally with the Archangel Michael[1], is that anyone stupid enough to call a Duke of Hell to their attic and demand servitude in exchange for release is already dead and damned anyway.

This human went to the trouble of covering up the window with a bedsheet. As if that would keep Ligur from knowing that he's somewhere in London. He can taste the distinct metallic tang that accompanies Crowley's particular brand of soul tarnishing, or whatever he's calling it nowadays. The human is wearing a suit so threadbare and worn at the elbows and buttons that it might actually be made from the same material as the bedsheet.

Eyes on his book, he strokes a long gray beard. "It says here that you can perform great feats of magic."

"True enough," Ligur says.

The circle at his feet has been drawn in white chalk. There are pentagrams within pentagrams, sigils in languages long dead, and a sketch at the center that looks like a chameleon if Ligur pretends to forget what the chameleon on his head actually looks like. There are no hints of anything like a binding. Nothing to bite back when Ligur makes his move. There isn't even an alarm to alert the summoner if Ligur attempts to sneak out while his back is turned.

Humans are so pathetic.

"Demonstrate," the human orders.

Ligur looks at him. The chameleon blinks. "I already did."

Frowning, the human starts walking around the outer edge of the circle. Ligur doesn't bother turning around. In another moment the man is back in front of him. "I don't see any noticeable changes."

"I transported here from another dimension, didn't I?"

"Ha. A fine grasp of words."

The chameleon taps its fingers against Ligur's scalp.

"But I think you will agree," the man says, "that it was I who summoned you, and thus performed magic."

"Will I?"

Being summoned is a lot like having someone knock on the side of your skull. A demon, especially a Duke, can choose to answer, or they can choose to bite off the person's hand.

Ligur had needed to get out of a meeting, so he'd answered. It had hardly been force.

"Yes. This means you are currently under my command. You cannot leave this circle," the human says, gesturing to the circle that - again - is in no way capable of holding Ligur in place. "If you are truly a Duke of Hell, this means you can perform for me certain tasks…"

"Hmmm." 

These modern human homes. They're wood from the roof down. Whatever happened to good solid stone floors and walls? Hastur might appreciate the taste of charred wood with his meals, and the ambiance of a burning home, but all that smoke makes Ligur's nose itch.

He's in the middle of considering how this particular meal will need to be enjoyed without cooking when there's a quiet pop in the back of the room.

The human starts to turn around.

Ligur noisily clears his throat, so the man turns back to him. "O magical human," he drones, to the summoner's clear delight, "what would'st thou have me do?"

"For starters, I command you to wait upon my needs, until such a time at which I have learned enough magic to complete my own-" Blah, blah, blah. Humans do love to drone on and on about things that Ligur is never going to actually do. In this case, though, it's useful. Ligur keeps his eyes on the human and nods as if the words have any meaning. On his head, the chameleon shades into a disappointed ashy green.

Behind the human, the frog on Hastur's head sticks its tongue out.

The chameleon ripples to a sickly pea color, and the frog lets out a flustered croak that Ligur has to cover up with a sudden coughing fit.

"Oh," the human says, stopping in the middle of a rant about how Ligur is going to convince the incredibly gorgeous Lady Margaret to marry him (which Ligur wouldn't do even if he could[2]). He takes several steps back, as behind him, Hastur looms out of the shadows with both hands eagerly raised. "Are you - Do you have some kind of hellish disease?"

"Usually," Hastur says, catching the back of the man's coat.

As the human screams in a register that could crack glass, Ligur steps out of the circle. It sizzles harmlessly at his feet, the brush of magic like a light tickle, or a pleasant pinch. He says, "You're funny."

Hastur lifts the man off the floor. It means that when the man's coat catches fire, the floor doesn't immediately catch along with it. The man keeps screaming. Hastur leans around him to sneer. "You looked like you needed help."

Ligur doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. The chameleon turning a displeased, glossy white communicates his opinion well enough.

Fire can take a person so quickly.

It's only a few minutes later when Ligur starts to sneeze. "Ugh. You know I hate smoke."

What's left of the former summoner is crumpled at their feet. Little tongues of flame inch out along the floorboards, eager to eat up the rest of the house. The chalk line of the circle is on fire, too, and confused about it, since chalk isn't supposed to burn. But this is demonic fire. It creeps along the edge of the circle toward Ligur's shoes. Ligur flicks his hand. The small flickers of orange puff into dark smoke that just makes him sneeze again, but he is in no mood to go crashing through to the floor below.

Hastur picks up a smoldering chunk of floorboard and pops it into his mouth. Ash crumbles over his lips as he chews. "Like you really wanted to eat an uncooked summoner."

"I didn't want to share a summoner," Ligur grumbles.

Hastur leans down to push his face close to Ligur's. If their noses almost brush, well, any part of the summoner that could've overseen it has already been carted off by one of the horsemen, so there's no witnesses. Ligur can see his own face reflected in Hastur's black eyes.

Hastur says, his voice crackly and low, "You don't get to be the only one who skips out on Crowley's stupid presentation."

"Hmmph."

The corners of Hastur's mouth pull back in an imitation smile, all the way to his ears. "Do you want to rush back to Hell?"

"When you left, was Crowley almost done?"

"He was unfurling posters."

Ligur sighs and reaches up to cup a hand against the back of Hastur's neck. He presses his fingertips against Hastur's clammy skin and pulls him down. "It's such a tragedy that offing that human took us so long, then, and we missed the whole thing."

"Dibs on the summoner's liver," Hastur says.

Ligur rolls his eyes. The chameleon flickers from bone white to a new color.

Hastur grins for real. This doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's a rare treat. He's certainly the only one in Hell who knows what it means when Ligur's eyes are the palest of pinks.[3]

**Author's Note:**

> 1. For given definitions of 'hammered.'↩
> 
> 2. Demons aren't much in the business of holy matrimony.↩
> 
> 3. Which is true, because only one Archangel also knows and she definitely isn't in Hell.↩


End file.
